Walking Around Naked

In the year when King Sargon of Assyria sent his commander in chief to capture the Philistine city of Ashdod, the Lord told Isaiah son of Amoz, “Take off the burlap you have been wearing, and remove your sandals.” Isaiah did as he was told and walked around naked and barefoot.

Then the Lord said, “My servant Isaiah has been walking around naked and barefoot for the last three years. This is a sign—a symbol of the terrible troubles I will bring upon Egypt and Ethiopia. For the king of Assyria will take away the Egyptians and Ethiopians as prisoners. He will make them walk naked and barefoot, both young and old, their buttocks bared, to the shame of Egypt. Then the Philistines will be thrown into panic, for they counted on the power of Ethiopia and boasted of their allies in Egypt! They will say, ‘If this can happen to Egypt, what chance do we have? We were counting on Egypt to protect us from the king of Assyria.’”   Isaiah 20

So what’s the deal with Isaiah having to walk around naked? Did he really live life buttocks bared for three years? Was this a symbolic “nakedness” or was it really a man walking around sans clothing.

Either way, symbolic or real, it spins me trying to imagine having to live in the vulnerability and shame of what God called him to do.

So how do you live day to day when God, trying to make a point, asks you to be naked? Do you have coffee with people? Do you do dinner at the neighbors? Do you attend the family picnic? How do you interact in your circle of relationships? How do you meet new people?

I’m pretty sure if God asked me to live the next three years with my butt bared, there would be people, myself included, who would ask, “Are you sure? Are you sure God told you to do that?” I’m sure the phrase, “that can’t be God”, would be uttered a few times.

And that is what really spins me. I make the assumption that God would never ask me to do something as odd, or embarrassing as what He asked Isaiah to do. I’m afraid that my ability to hear God’s call closely correlates with how uncomfortable it makes me. The higher the level of unease, the less I can hear.

So I’m asking the question, “Abba, what am I missing for the sake of my own comfort? Open my eyes to where my presuppositions of You keep me from actually hearing your voice.